


Those Were the Days

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [72]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Arguing, Community: kink_bingo, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Jossed, M/M, Magical Accidents, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A magical accident turns Clint into a teenager and puts stress on Clint & Phil's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Were the Days

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Age Play
> 
> Author's Note: **Nothing** sexual happens while Clint is underage.

"So they are all fifteen," said Steve.

"Approximately," said Bruce.

"Physically," said Phil.

"Hello, could you guys stop talking about us like we're not here. God, no wonder teenagers are so pissed off all the time."

"Sorry." Steve, Bruce and Phil turned to look at Clint, Natasha, and Tony, who were standing around in Bruce's lab wearing ill-fitting sweat-pants and t-shirts. 

"What did we have for dinner last Thursday?" Phil asked Clint. Clint sighed and looked put-upon.

"How long are you going to keep quizzing me before you're convinced that I'm me? That I remember absolutely everything for all of the 39 years that I've been alive? Was last Thursday the night we argued about General Tao Chicken?" The voice was Clint's voice, but slightly higher-pitched and scratchier. His facial expressions and mannerisms were Clint's, but the face making them was unscarred and unlined, and the arms he waved around were smaller and less defined.

"No, that was last Friday. I'm sorry, Clint, it's just hard to... get used to."

Natasha snorted. "You think it's hard for you to get used to!"

"Yes, OK, point taken." Phil sighed. "Do we have any clue as to what caused it or how to reverse it?"

"What caused it was probably the big orange sparkly glowy fireball thing that hit us. Just guessing," said Tony.

Bruce and Phil ignored him and Bruce said,

"No, not yet, I'll have a better idea when the analysis of the blood samples and the molecular DNA are finished. I hope." 

"Well, if no one needs me, I'm going to the gym. I've got a few hours of working out to do to re-train my reflexes for being an inch shorter and 15 pounds lighter," said Natasha.

"Shit, you're right. I'd better get to the range. Fuck, I wonder if I'll even be able to draw my bow with these spindly little arms." Clint frowned as he poked his own bicep.

"Hmm... I wonder how long it would take to modify the suit to fit me."

"Actually, Tony, I could use your help on the analysis..."

Bruce and Tony started talking clock-speeds and teraflops at each other and Clint and Natasha headed out. Phil watched them go with fear clenching at his guts. 

"I'm going to report to SHIELD and see if anyone has any bright ideas."

~~~~~

Phil got back to the Tower later that afternoon to find The Avengers in the big common room. Steve was serving up a spaghetti-and-meatball supper.

"Hey, Phil, you're just in time for dinner!"

Clint was wearing a pair of black jeans and a purple t-shirt, both of which fit him surprisingly well. He noticed Phil looking.

"Pepper and Nat went shopping."

"Good." Phil nodded and dragged his eyes away from Clint. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked Steve. 

"There's a bowl of salad on the counter, and some garlic bread in the oven." Phil went to the kitchen. He bustled around getting the salad and the bread, bringing them into the common room and then surveying the table.

"Napkins, salad dressing, anything else missing?"

"There's a couple of bottles of red wine in the cupboard by the fridge," said Tony.

"Do you think you should?"

"Agent, my liver is only fifteen years old. I very definitely should."

"I started drinking vodka when I was twelve," said Natasha, giving Phil a hard look.

"OK, OK. I'll get the wine. Anything else?" 

Phil opened the wine and poured for everyone who wanted some, Clint handing over his glass and challenging Phil to say anything about it with his eyes.

"So," Nat said after a large sip, "Any word on how to fix this?" 

Bruce and Tony launched into an explanation of cellular memory and Clint immediately tuned them out in favour of stuffing large amounts of spaghetti into his mouth. He'd spent the afternoon in the gym with Natasha and on the range with his bows. His aim was un-affected, but he didn't have the strength he was used to, and he kept getting tripped up on his coordination, because his arms and legs weren't quite the right length.

He wiped his plate with a piece of bread, took a gulp of his wine and asked, "Is there any more?"

Bruce looked at him with a smile.

"I remember being 15 and growing - it felt like I spent two years constantly hungry."

"I spent way more than two years constantly hungry," Clint mumbled to his empty plate, not really intending Bruce to hear him.

"Sorry, Clint. Here, let me get you another helping."

"I'll do it." Phil was already getting up from the table with Clint's plate in his hand. "Anyone else?" 

"I could eat," said Nat and handed her plate over.

"Tony? Do you want more spaghetti?" Phil asked.

"Huh?" Tony looked up from his StarkPad. "No, I'm fine. Thanks."

There was cherry pie for desert, and Clint had two helpings of that as well. When he finally put his fork down and looked up, he grinned at Phil. 

"You've got some..." he reached a finger towards the corner of Phil's mouth where there was a smidge of pie filling. Phil pulled his head back and grabbed a napkin.

"It's OK, I've got it." he said, wiping his mouth. Clint snatched his hand back and stood up from the table abruptly. 

"Well, I'm kinda tired. Goodnight everyone." He turned his back without another look and left the room.

Phil balled up his napkin and dropped it on his plate and sighed.

"Maybe you had better..." Steve said, with a glance at the door.

"No. He'll be fine. He probably just needs to be alone for a bit. I'll help wash up."

Two hours later Phil couldn't find any more excuses not to head down to their floor, so with a heavy heart he rode the elevator. He stopped outside the door to the suite.

"Jarvis, where is Clint?"

"Specialist Barton is in the living room watching a movie."

"Thank you JARVIS."

Phil took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and opened the door.

He walked into the living room and found Clint curled up in a ball in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket wrapped around him, watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" on TV. 

"Hi," Phil said. When it didn't get a response, he sighed and headed for the bedroom.

"I knew I wasn't much to look at as a kid, but am I really that ugly?" Clint said to his back.

Phil stopped, but didn't turn.

"That's not funny, Clint."

"What are you taking about?"

"I'm sorry that I'm having trouble dealing with this... but I'd really prefer if you didn't tease me about it."

"Phil, what the fuck are you talking about?" That made Phil turn, and the expression of hurt confusion on Clint's face was one he'd seen enough times (unfortunately) to know that it was 100% genuine.

"You're serious. You think..."

"That you don't want to touch me, that you can barely even stand to look at me because I'm butt-ugly as a fifteen your old kid. Yeah. Well, sucks to be me, as usual." Clint wrapped his long, thin arms around his knees.

"Clint...." Phil took three steps towards the sofa and saw hope bloom in Clint's face, only for it to shut down again when Phil sat down on the opposite end. "Clint, listen to me. You are not ugly. That's not..."

"Then what? Phil? Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"You're fucking gorgeous." Phil was staring at the floor and his voice was a strangled whisper.

"What the fuck is that suppose to mean?"

"It means I'm attracted to you, Clint."

"Yeah? So? Why is that a problem?"

"It's a problem because you're fifteen years old!"

"I am not! My body's fifteen. I'm thirty-nine, dammit."

"I know that, and I'm sorry, but I can't help...I can't help..."

"Can't help what, Phil?"

"I can't help feeling like a fucking pervert every time I look at you."

Clint recoiled as if Phil had slapped him in the face.

"I'm sorry, Clint. I'm sorry..." Clint hugged himself tighter and seemed to shrink further into his corner of the sofa.

"So what does that mean?" he asked in a very small voice.

"I... I don't understand."

"If they can't fix this, if I'm stuck this way - "

"They'll fix it."

"You don't know that! They might not. Then what? Do we sit around and wait three years until my body's 18? Will you touch me then, Phil?"

"I..."

"You don't even know! You can't even tell me how old I need to be before you'll be able to bring yourself to touch me!"

"How can I? How can I know, Clint? You don't understand! You can't begin to understand what it feels like for your dick to twitch looking at a child!"

"Not a child! Phil, not a child! Not any child! Me! Your lover! The person you've been sleeping with for three years! It's not the same thing! Dammit Phil, I've known you for eight years. I see everything, particularly when it comes to you. You've never, never once in eight years looked at a kid. You're not a pervert."

Phil looked miserably at the floor.

"I just... right now, I just can't..."

"Fine."

Clint got up off the couch and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To Nat's. At least she's not afraid to touch me. She'll let me sleep with her. Sleep with! Not have sex with! Because you seem to have forgotten that there's a difference."

"Clint, don't, Clint..."

Phil went after him and grabbed for Clint's wrist.

"Oh, it's OK to touch me now? To make me do what you want?"

"Clint, why can't you just..."

"Just what?"

"Why can't you just give me a little time to get used to this, to get over it?"

"Because I'm fucking terrified and I need you, that's why!" Clint shouted.

It was Phil's turn to look as if he had been slapped.

"What if they can't fix it, Phil? What happens to us?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to us if I stay 15, Phil?"

"I..."

"I'm going to lose you, that's what."

"No! Clint, no! Clint..." Phil reached out and pulled a trembling Clint into his arms.

"You're never going to lose me Clint. Never. I promise. I love you. I will always love you no matter what. No matter what happens, no matter who you are. You could turn into a hawk and grow wings and fly away and I would still love you until the day I died, Clint."

"This is all I wanted, Phil," Clint said, his words muffled against Phil's chest. "I was so scared, and I needed you, I just needed you to hug me and tell me you still loved me."

"I'm sorry, Clint. I'm so sorry."

"S'okay. S'okay. I love you too, Phil."

~~~~~

"I'm sure this t-shirt wasn't this tight when I went to bed last night," Clint said, pulling at a sleeve.

"Looks like you could use a shave, as well." Phil laid one hand on his cheek and rubbed gently.

"Really?" Clint ran for the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Phil followed and stood behind him.

"I look older! I do, right? I'm not just imagining things? It's not just wishful thinking or something?"

"You definitely look older. And a little taller."

"I'm aging. This is fantastic! I wonder if Bruce is up yet. We should go to the lab and - "

"Slow down a little," Phil grinned at Clint's enthusiasm, and also in relief. It did look like Clint was aging. "How about some breakfast first?"

"Breakfast! Yes, please. I'm starving! I don't know how that's possible, after eating my weight in spaghetti and meatballs last night, but... Phil, about last night. I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I'm sorry too. We were both under a lot of stress."

"Yeah. Still, I... just, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"You had a bunch of fifteen-year-old hormones running through your system, on top of everything else you're going through. You don't have anything to apologize for."

"I love you Phil."

"And I love you."

"Good. Make me breakfast while I shave?"

Phil laughed.

"Yes, dear!" 

~~~~~

In Bruce's lab, they met up with a slightly taller and very relieved Natasha, and a scruffy, unshaven Tony. Clint stuck out his arm when Bruce picked up a syringe.

"Tell me the good news, Doc,"

"Well, as far as I can tell so far, you all seem to have aged approximately four years overnight."

"Woohoo! We're legal again, Phil!" Clint grinned and punched Phil in the arm.

"OK, I really, really didn't need that image," said Tony.

"We didn't... we..." Phil turned pink and stopped talking.

"Moving on," said Natasha, "If we continue to age four years over every 24 hours we'll be back to our normal bodies within a week."

"Yeah, assuming we stop aging when we get back to our former ages."

"Didn't need that downer, Tony!" said Clint.

"That's really not very likely," said Bruce and started to talk about cellular memory again, which distracted Tony enough to start arguing with him.

"Well, I guess I'm heading back to the range. With any luck I should be able to draw a decent weight on my bow today. Nat, wanna spar later?"

"Sure, I'll be in the gym, come find me."

~~~~~

The next morning Clint jumped out of bed as soon as he woke up and rushed to the bathroom mirror to look at himself. 

'Yep. Definitely older again. Thank God for that.' He looked at his arms and legs, which seemed to be back to the 'right' lengths. His muscles had definition, even if they weren't quite as big as he was used to. He looked rangy, like a cowboy. A 23-year-old cowboy. He got into the shower and while he washed, he wondered if the 'cellular memory' Bruce kept talking about would remember his scars, if he'd get the puckered reminders of bullets and the straight thin lines from knives that criss-crossed his skin back, or whether he'd be a blank canvas, ready to accept whatever new brushstrokes were to come in the next few years. He shaved while he was in the shower, and then got out and toweled his hair. He wrapped the towel around his still somewhat thinner waist, and wondered if his clothes would fit him today. 

Lost in those thoughts he padded quietly to the dresser on his side of the bedroom.

"Well, look at you," Phil said quietly from the bed.

Clint glanced over. "Sorry, Phil. I'll put some clothes on right away. Just looking for a pair of pants that'll fit."

"It's OK, Clint. I'm actually kind of enjoying the view."

"Oh, so do I look old enough not to freak you out this morning?"

"Partly that, yes. Partly I've had a couple of days to get my head around it. Plus, we're pretty sure that you'll be back to normal soon, so that makes it easier... God you're gorgeous."

Clint had turned around and put his hands on his hips.

"D'you want to see the rest?"

"I..."

"Sorry, Phil. Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say."

"No. No it wasn't. Did you mean it?"

"'Course I meant it, Phil. When have I ever been shy?"

"I don't know, I... I do want to see you, if..."

Clint dropped the towel.

Phil swallowed.

Clint stepped closer to the bed. 

"Do you want to touch?"

Phil dragged his eyes back up to Clint's face and found that Clint was wearing an amused smile. 

"I want to, very much. I'm just not sure I should."

"Why not? It's not like you're likely to ever get another chance to have sex with a 23-year-old me. At least I sure as hell hope not!"

That got a small smile out of Phil.

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure I want to have sex with you? Yes, Phil. I'm completely sure. Still the 39-year-old brain in here, remember?" he said, rapping on the side of his head with his knuckles. "So I'm completely sure, and I'm also pretty curious to find out what this 23-year-old body can do. For instance," he said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling, "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to get it up a couple of times in a row, so if you wanted to, say, suck me off, I'd still be able to fuck you afterwards."

"Clint," Phil said, in a tone that made it clear that he was holding his voice steady with an enormous amount of willpower, "I'm about to tackle you and lick every single inch of your skin. And I would very, very much like for you to fuck me after I do that."

"Sounds like a plan, boss."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
